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The Author 



These Sentiments are 

Lovingly 

Dedicated 

to 

My Dear Parents, 






Y\ 



Copyright 1915 

by 
I. "B. Smith. 




D£C 2^ 1915 

©GU420057 



Introductory 



Presenting Mr. Smith as a poet, and this sKower 
of sparks from Kis rythmic an\>il, is but compliment, 
ceremony and convention. Tnese songs and tnis singer 
speak for tKemsel\)es. Boldl^^, directly, fearlessly?, but 
seriously), this poet Kas taken up the Karp of life and 
"smote on all the cKords with migKt". Upon dark 
and N»?ar-beclouded days tKe^? come, out of tKe depths, 
from stress and conflict, but tKey voice the 2?earnings of 
the human heart, and all hearts v?ill yield glad response 
to their message. 

The world is depressed by doubts, dismays, 
spiritual apathies — welcome this poet who dares to sing 
up the braS)e and the cov?ards with commanding rhyme, 
and leads us from the depths b>) the compelling music 
of true love. 

Let others discuss and disect his high craft and 
art with common folk who love and hope, and pray and 
struggle — I say, *' Well done. Singer Smith, sing on." 



jk^MaU 



PROLOGUE. 

These thoughts are but my humble mite; 
I send them forth to shed their light, 

And do what good they may. 
For every strong or feeble thought 
Of God or man — no matter what — 

Does good, the sages say. 

So, if they cause one smile to beam. 
Or, wake one mortal from his dream. 

Then that will be his gain. 
And I, who sent them forth to glow, 
However weak, however low. 

Shall not have lived in vain. 



Five 



EXPLANATION. 

I know it is the fashion in this age 

To put a hearty laugh on every page; 
And, too, I know such laughs do often start 
From upper throat nor venture near the heart. 
Such meter'd stuff is but an empty bowl 
Peered into by a lean and famished soul. 
I love the laugh, but true is my intent 
To fat the soul on some good sentiment. 
The pleasure's mine if you, dear reader, could 
Assert with truth that here I have "made good." 
I swear I make naught else, not e'en a name ; 
In prose I write for lucre and for fame. 



Six 



FOEGET ME NOT. 

Though I be far away 

And cannot hear the things you say 

To cheer another on his way, 

Forget me not. 

Though other hands may hold thine own; 
Though other lips may lisp a tone 
Far sweeter than may be my own, 

Forget me not. 

And then, perchance, when years have fled. 
And all thy former friends are dead; 
And cares weigh heavy on thy head. 
When not one helping hand is nigh, 
Then, ah ! then, will I 

Forget THEE not. 



Seven 



NEVER. 

Forget thee, Dear ? Ah ! never, 
Although the Fates may sever. 
And though we part forever; 

Still will I dream of thee, 

Still thou shalt seem to me 

Dearer than ever. 

Despite Time's ruthless hand; 
Despite Death's stern command. 
Still thou shalt foremost stand — 

Naught hath effaced thee. 

Forget I those honeyed lips? 
Oh ! how those nectared sips 
Thrilled to my finger tips. 

As I embraced thee. 

Ah ! Dear, a memory bright 
Of thee is mine tonight, 
Never to take its flight — 

Banish the thought ! 

Though all the world be chill. 
Yet shall thy memory thrill 
Me as I say: "I will 

Forget THEE not." 

Eight 



MORNING. 

Written at the suggestion of Mr. Charles R. Barrett, 
President of the Barrett Institute, Chicago, 111. 

What's more glorious than a Morning, 

When the sunlight is adorning 

Everything with gems of splendor and a radiance 

divine ; 
And the rays are slowly creeping 
O'er our loved ones who are sleeping 
In that silent, solemn city, guarded by your God 

and mine? 
Oh, how glorious is the morning 
When smiling — never scorning — 
Old Sol sublimely wraps us in his robe of yellow 

light; 
And his brilliant golden fire 
Keeps climbing higher, higher. 
Till the whole world's dipp'd in glory. 

Oh, the soul inspiring sight ! 
Ah, could I have made this universe, 
(As I now make this rhyme,) 
No noon nor night I'd had at all — 
Just Morning all the time. 



Nine 



THE ELKS. 

Flawless chain of purest steel, 

Welded by love and faith in man; 

What is it makes each brother feel 
Akin to all — as was God's plan? 

It's hands that help and lips that pray; 

It's love for man and a flag; 
It's doing some good each passing day 

With never a boast nor a brag. 

This is the spirit and this the soul — 

And this the corner stone 
Of the temple that symbols the ultimate goal 

In the Here and the Place unknown. 



Ten 



ODE TO LAKE SUPERIOE. 

Mighty, cold and restless, 

0, Superior ! 
All others, named or nameless, 

Are inferior; 
Monarch of the Inland Seas 
Reshaped by every Northern breeze, 

Never crestless. 
Shoreward race your spawn of waves to break and 

die; 
We count them and we count the graves that in 

you lie 
For no ship has been faster 
Than the duty of the Master, 
Wrong decision means disaster 
When your bosom's heaving high. 

From your blackened wharfs we've watched your 

pond'rous swells 
And we've heard the solemn Jangling of your 

brazen warning bells. 
We've seen your schooners fight 
In the cruel storms of night 
Till the crews in pale afright 
Profanely wished your awful might 

A thousand Hells. 

Eleven 



Your jewelled studded beaches charmed our eyes; 
Wanderers to your sliores meet with surprise — 
For they think of you as grueling, 
All stern and never fooling; 
But they get a better schooling 
Than this hoary horde of lies. 

For they see that you are patient, bear the burdens 
given you. 

That you only whip the tonnage when the Storm- 
God tells you to. 

The God of Peace who made you 

Never yet has been afraid you 

Would do aught that would degrade you, 

And we know we would not trade you 

For all the waters in the world. 

You will have our kindly pity when the winds 

disturb your breast 
And we'll sprinkle our affections on each billow, 

wave and crest. 
So long as federal flag is waving or is furled. 
We are with you just to solace when you're sad, 
We will laugh and joy with 3^ou when you're glad ; 
When you're angry, biting mad, we will say it is 

too bad — 
But, we'll know you do your very level best. 



Twelve 



TO M. W. S. 

Genuine, thou mighty word ! 
Mightier than the howitzer or sword; 
Into it the Deity hath poured 

The essence of His soul. 

In this dear world of ours, 
Men, women, like artificial flowers. 
Seek to o'ershade the woods and bowers 

And reach the goal. 

Such find, some soon, some late — 
That these base pretentions are but the gate 
Which leads all roughly to ignoble fate 

With looks secure. 

In such a life no love is wafted far, 

N^o living light imbibed from sun and star. 

No scent the gift of Orient afar — 

Nothing that's pure. 

While alway the genuine — blossom or a man, 
Impels the passerby to stop and scan 
The marvellousness of God's real plan — 

And, pleased, pass on. 



Thirteen 



The false, ill colored, sans a soul; 
Devoid of light as habitat of mole, 
Repels as Hunger turns from empty bowl; 

And quick is gone. 

We love and seek fall enduring real 
In man or flower — for then we feel 
As though tVere pleasure there to kneel 

And say, " 'Tis mine." 

And now, good friend, those who really know. 
And have known you of late or long ago. 
Love you, because you daily show 

You're genuine. 



Tourteen 



THE BAEEIERS. 

When Dawn's first arrow pierced the night, 

And Darkness fled, 
There were no tears to blind the sight — 

No voiceless dead; 
No trace of envy, greed nor gun. 
And God looked down and said, "Well Done. 

When choired stars their anthem sung, 

In vaulted blue. 
No foeman's flag had e'er been flung — 

Gentile nor Jew ; 
The world was shaped in harmony. 
And filled with love for you and me. 

From this true love God made His child 

In perfect mould. 
Devoid of dross and undefiled. 

Like purest gold; 
And thus began, as records go. 
The pageant of the passing show. 

Faith linked to faith, like stone on stone 

In temple reared — 
When Evil came its work was known. 

But was not feared. 
So barriers blocked His children's way 
E'en as they do in our own day. 

Fifteen 



Envy and Hate, by EviPs hand, 

Were spawned and grew; 
The Forts of Greed, by Evil mann^ J 

Against the few 
Who dared defy the craving maw 
And say, "God's love's the only law." 

We stand erect and scan the score 

Of those who say 
That tinseled prayer will opt the door 

On Judgment Day; 
For well we know — and learned from Thee, 
That Faith alone is not the key. 

The light of Truth shines for us all 

Like Midday's Sun 
It casts no shades that creep and crawl. 

Till life is done. 
The only shade that shapes a pall 
Is thrown by Error's weakening wall. 

The many now are prone to think, 

That Life alloyed 
Will clarify when on the brink 

Of Death's great void; 
And so they spend their gold and might 
To build the barriers 'gainst the light. 



Sixteen 



The barrier of Scoff and Scorn, 

And Envy's Hate; 
The wall that shuts the lowly born 

From King's estate — 
As if the Master proffer'd key 
Alone to those with pedigree. 

The wall of Self is biiilded high 

By hands of greed 
And dulls the brother's wailing cry 

Of dire need; 
The builder sees no mote nor beam. 
So cloistered he in self esteem. 

So, time rolls on — age piled on age, 

In endless tiers; 
The blind in faith turn not a page 

Through all the years — 
But grope along the narrow way, 
Content to rob and hurt and pray. 

Thus in the shadow of the walls 

That men have made. 
We kneel and scan Hebraic scrawls 

And worship shade; 
While just a pace beyond this night, 
There lives the truth — there glows the light. 



Seventeen 



'Now let us pull the barriers down 

And banish night. 
We'll give to Truth the Jewelled Crown, 

We'll greet the light; 
And then redeemed, we'll make amends- 
And live and love, and all be friends. 

This is the way, the only way. 

To reach the goal. 
No phantom Hell will then hold sway 

O'er any soul; 
Each word and deed will banish fear, 
Will cause a smile or stop a tear. 



Eighteen 



TO A LOCKET. 

Precious jewel — though worthless in the mart; 
Priceless to me because of thee a part 
And doth enfold the love of my own heart — 
0, precious jewel ! 

Open now and let me sadly trace 

The contour of that dear, beloved face 

Unequalled by the Angels or the Belles of 

Thrace— 

But, I'm a fool ! 

A fool to worship thus so poor a thing 
And gaze at thee as vassal looks on king. 
Oh, kindly Gilead, let some fairy bring 
Thy potent balm ! 

Thus from my bitter woe I'll know surcease 
And every ache of heart shall find release; 
So, when the stars look down I'll sleep in peace — 
Oh, blessed Calm! 



Nineteen 



But no — a fool again, I would not sleep; 
Much rather would I walk or sit or weep. 
Gladly will I bear the pangs if I may keep 
Thee near my heart. 

Locket, holder of my portray'd treasure, 

Neither God nor man can truly measure 

These, my deep emotions and my pleasure, 

E'en in part. 

I'll close thee gently — ever guard thy ward 
Against a cruel world, with fire and sword; 
To you my aching heart I have outpour'd — 
And now depart. 



Twenty 



IN ALL MY DEE AM S. i 

I'm all alone, : 

The days are dark; 

Ashes and stone i 

Where glowed Love's spark; 

But when at night ; 

My whole soul teems — 

I hold you tight, 

In all my dreams. j 

In all my dreams i 

Sweet you I see; i 

Your love light beams j 

Like sunlit sea. * 

I revel on \ 

In ecstasy, i 

Till cruel Dawn j 
Awakens me. 



Twenty-one 



And then, aroused 
From soothing sleep, 
Where love caroused — 

Nor let me weep. 
I move to kiss, 
And then it seems 
Woe whispers this. 
Just in your dreams. 

And so I plod 
The long day through. 
Looking to God — 
Yearning for you! 
0, for night! when 
Good it seems 
To see you then — 
In all my dreams. 



Twenty-two 



TO M. H. S. 

0, Marguerite — My Marguerite, 

Chum of my youth and age, 
The Heavens above 
Harbor no love 

More surely complete 
Than the love I have written on Life's best page 

For you — My Marguerite. 

In those fond days 

When we romped and joyed, 
And my heart was welded with yours, 
God knows that our loves 

Was compositely buoyed 
And were listed in His great stores. 

And when, when He called. 

And you left me alone, 
I gave you my heart 
But hoped you'd not start 

Even though God in His wisdom had called— 
Because it would leave me alone. 

But, I knew, Marguerite, 

You would sit in a seat 
On the hand to the right of the Throne 
And I'd give my whole life again and again. 

For the date of the epoch which men call 
"When," 
When you and I should chum again 

I and my Marguerite. 



Twenty-three 



LET'S JUST BE KIND. 

There're lots of pleasures in the world we live in, 

Despite the fact we have onr cares and woe; 
It's hard sometimes to overlook — to give in, 

To decide just what to do or where to go. 
But we're here, and every worry schools us, 

And we're going back to Him from whom we 
came ; 
There's many a little thing that often fools us. 

But gradually we learn to play the game. 

We'll falter and we'll slip — that's part of living. 

But we'll start again with just a little lift; 
We'll learn it always pays to be forgiving — 

That the race of life 's not always to the swift. 
Let's look upon our fellows as our brothers, 

Everyone to us is something kin; 
We travel just one route — there are no others ; 

We're going out the same as we came in. 



Twenty-four 



Oftentimes we kick at what we're handed ; 

We wonder why it is that life 's so rough ; 
But, later on, we find the track is sanded 

For those of us who're good and kind enough. 
We can look beneath a coat that's all in tatters. 

Or lift his robe who plays the Kingly part, 
And we'll always find the garment little matters; 

The fabric will not classify the heart. 

There are just a few of us who know each other ; 
'Though there're millions in the world — it's 
very small; 
We can sift the whole thing down, my sis or 
brother. 
And find we've just a friend or two — that's 
all. 
So, as we journey on, no matter whether 

We win the race, or pull up far behind; 
Let's thank our stars that we are here together. 
And everyone to everyone, BE KIND. 



Twenty-five 



TO MOTHEE. 

Mother, dear Mother, 

God knows that I love you; 
Naught that's below nor above you, 
Nothing on land nor sea 
Can ever make me 
Choose aught but thee — 

I love you. 

And when your dear lips are still and dumb, 
You'll wait for me — for me to come. 
Won't you? 
Mother, dear Mother, 
There is no other — 
You love me, 

Don't you? 



Twenty-six 



TO E. B. S. I 

i 
j 

I've consulted all the muses 

For the proper sentiment; ! 

I have studied all the uses 

For which our words are spent; j 

Just to tell if I could I 

And be clearly understood — 

And I can — ; 

That you're not the ordinary — 
Neither Angel, God nor Fairy, 

But a man. ; 

I 

When the clouds are thick and blacken'd 1 

You can always see the sun, i 

And your smile is never slacken'd j 

Till the good you plann'd is done, i 

And I want to say to you j 

(And my words are very true) i 

I swear to Pan; ! 

That no mortal e'er can meet, i 

In the fields nor in the street — 

A finer man. 



Twenty-seven 



FOR YOU, MY BOY. 

Dear little boy, in you I see 

Full many years of ecstasy ; 

My love has seen its dearest prize 

First dancing in your nut brown eyes — 

Each sleepless night shall be a joy — 

Each day shall be a sacrifice, 

For you, my boy. 

The joys my boyhood did not see 
I'll heap on you abundantly; 
"Reflection's Dynasty shall fall 
I'll crown you king of Baby's all ; 
For you my heart shall be a toy; 
My love shall be a plastic ball 

For you, my boy. 

And when you've grown as I have grown, 
And know the love that I have shown, 
Your mind shall not be fill'd with thought 
Of losing battles you have fought — 
That torture, puzzle and annoy — 
For you I've cast a better lot, 

For you, my boy. 



Twenty-eight 



For you the soil of love is tilPd ; 
For you my heart is ever fill'd; 
For you I'll work, aspire and fight, 
God's torch of truth for you I'll light ; 
I'll purge your life of all alloy 
And exercise my every right, 

For you, my boy. 

I see you stainless as a star — 
God keep you ever as you are ! 
First dedicate your soul to man. 
Then do the mighty good you can; 
Sow seeds of virtue — harvest joy. 
My love has shaped this noble plan 
For you, my boy. 

You have the Pulpit's virtuous blood; 
Of Law's staid learning there's a flood; 
You have the genius of the mart. 
You have a Christian mother's heart. 
Your ship's weigh'd anchor — world, ahoy ! 
Safe be the voyage as fair the start. 
For you, my boy. 



Twenty-nine 



LITTLE BOY. 

0, little boy, little boy, I say, 

Don't envy that big tall man; 
For, didn't you see that fringe of gray 

That 'round his temples and forehead ran? 
Didn't you see that his step was slow; 

That his face was furrowed and wan? 
Why, he's going the way that all men go 

When the flush of youth is gone. 

0, little boy, little boy, I say. 

Don't wish for a certain doom ; 
But take your marbles and ball to play — 

And rollic and romp and joy while you may- 
For each succeeding, fleeting day 

Brings you nearer that fringe of gray — 
Brings you nearer the tomb. 



Thirty 



THE GEAPE VINE SWING. 

0, aged friend of children strong and true ! 

Embracing vine, receive my fond salute ! 
Other friends may quarrel, but ever you 

Are loyal to the human, fowl and brute. 

The oak extends his rough but generous boughs. 
You grasp them with your thousand tiny 
hands. 

And cling with strength the fertile soil endows, 
And curve to suit His purpose and His plans. 

And there in sun and storm, the seasons through. 
You watch the generations come and go ; 

The child, matured, returns again to you. 

To watch Ms children swinging to and fro. 

They climb within your tempting lap, and wide 
The echoes of their laughter spread from hill 
to cove; 
They grasp your pendant arms while crowding 
side by side. 
And fly away like fairies in a sylvan grove. 

Long may you cling and lean upon the sturdy oak, 
And furnish mirth for children yet unborn. 

But, long before your sinewy arms be broke, 

Eeceive the parents' blessing night and morn. 

May sun and rain and morn and ev'ning dew, 
And fertile soil and atmosphere combine 

To give a vigorous age and sturdy strength to you, 
noble, generous, kindly, joyous vine ! 

Thirty-one 



THE WAY. 

Sometimes it seems this dream would never end; 

This Stygian darkness — restless, sleepless 
sleep — 
This pang of flesh, the pain of faithless friend, 

The giving done with lips — yet hold and keep. 

Hope built on hope, like mansion stone on stone; 

Recurs disaster, Hope must build again; 
Health boasts a kingship, sceptre and a throne. 

Yet short the reign when Nature combats 
men. 

Back to the sloughs, the quagmires of Despair ; 

Each quaff of Joy leaves but a bitter taste; 
From hopeful KneePng, rise to unanswered 
prayer — 

Is there a joy that cannot be effaced? 

I answer yes, the best is merit won; 

Search for the fount, ignore the sunlit spray — 
And if thy Soul declares thy work well done. 

Then angel hands shall roll the stone away. 



Thirty-two 



AWAKEN. 

Out of the clamor that vanity makes, 
Out of the greed-grinding marts of the world; 
Out of the East where the battle shell breaks 
And the flag of the foeman is red and unfurled, 
Comes the echo of ages, retelling the tale 
That a cause without Justice must falter and fail ; 
That Eight is not proved by the shout of the host ; 
That Truth is still victor, though Falsehood may 

boast. 
We listen and hear, then rush to the fray, 
With hands that would plunder, with lips that 

would pray. 
0, Eeason, awaken ! thy lethargy fain 
Would make Calvary's sacrifice useless and vain; 
Awaken, World ! in heart and in brain — 
The manger-born Prince of Peace cometh to reign. 



Thirty-three 



CHEISTMAS. 

This festive day we turn our hearts to Him, 
The image and the likeness of our God; 

Our every thought, however bright or dim, 

Should prove for us a timely chastening rod. 

For in the flesh, as mortals, we are weak ; 

Our only strength comes from God-Love 
alone ; 
We're prone, in this commercial age, to seek 

The things that turn to ash or turn to stone. 

We know that Good is God, that God is Good, 

That happiness pours from the Living Fount ; 

And, knowing this, why test the great Godhood 
With thoughts unenter'd in his final count? 

So, on this day, the birth of risen Christ, 

Let you and me acknowledge one great Mind ; 

And then, for us, how'er they may be priced, 

Our hopes, by Love fulfill'd, we'll surely find. 



Thirty-four 



PEBBLES. 

I found two things last night — 

The first was treasure; 
And all the wealth that met my sight 

No man could measure. 

But rapture vanished, and you know 

I must have wept, 
When next I found it was not so — 

I'd only slept. 



Thirty-five 



AN APPEAL. 

A score of centuries have near rollM around, 

Since Christ 'neath the star of Bethlehem 
lay; 

Yet, in ev^ry nation on earth, it is found 

That sin yet abounds with impenitent sway. 

0, Lord of Lords, return to earth again. 

And lead us up to taste the living fount ! 

Come back to earth and preach once more to men. 
The short and simple Sermon on the Mount. 

We need Thy light when all the world is wrong. 
To guide us on the dark and doubtful way; 

The world is weak, while grow Thy teachings 
strong ; 
And lepers die, while tinseled Christians pray. 

0, King of Kings ! 0, Lord of Lords return 
And teach Thy children how to work and 
pray ! 

We know we're weak, and pray, Lord, to learn; 
So let Thy spirit bless the earth today. 



Thirty-six 



SOMETIMES AT NIGHT. 

Ah, you may think your thoughts are all your own, 
That all the world looks on but does not care ; 

And you may think that Misery's stifled moan 
Companions careless laughter on the air. 

That memory is left but one small cell 

In which to nurse a mutilated dream; 

If this be true, I beg the right to tell, 

That things, like these, are not as they may 
seem. 

I share with you the thoughts that seem your own ; 

I hear with you the sounds of joy and tears ; 
I touch at night, with sacred wand, the stone 

That holds the shattered hopes of bygone 
years. 

And when at night the pulse beats faint and low. 
And lips I love, from rose turn ashen white; 

I try to make you feel — to make you know, 

Your wayward thoughts are mine — sometimes 
at night. 



Thirty-seven 



THE SKY SCHOOL. 

The late moon sits on a silvery cloud 
And peers straight down at me ; 
While I sit lone and my night thoughts crowd 
Like the gulls o'er a tempest'd sea. 
Is the moon's pale light 
In the sky tonight 
A guiding lamp for me? 

I looked again — ^the cloud had moved 

And the moon floated full in the blue; 
What has the change to the wide world proved? 
Can you say what it means to you? 
The fast changing scene 
Seems clearly to mean 
There's only one course to pursue. 

We should not trust in vapory things 

Which melt like the dew at dawn; 
For we're hopeless and lone when the last change 
rings 
And our hold on the world is gone ; 
Ah, the moon tonight 
Has proved to my sight 
There's a God to depend upon. 



Thirty-eight 



YEAKNING. 

Speed, Winter! speed along, 
Make room for springtime's zephyr song; 
Make room for all the flowers that throng 
The woods and vales. 

Once thou wast welcome ; long ago 
I plunged beneath your drifting snow; 
I heard with glee your wild winds blow 
And faced your gales. 

But now, 0, Winter, speed away; 
I wait to welcome joyous May, 
I wish thee gone — be gone, I pray, 
Nor come again. 

When all thy blighting winds have blown. 
And song-birds from the southland flown. 
Then may I go and claim my own ; 

Ah ! then, sweet then. 



Thirty-nine 



SHALL WE FORGET ? 

Shall we forget? Yes, joy is gone 
The nest o'er which our reign 
Was then supreme, is lost in pain 

And drearily the world moves on. 

Shall we forget ? Xow let me ponder ! 
Or, should I say, "Shall we both try 
To kill the love that lit the eye 

And made us both grow dearer, fonder?" 

Shall we forget ? YOU answer this ! 

Bring back the joy that once we knew- 
Then I shall fly straight back to you 

And seal the bargain with a kiss. 



Forty 



REPENTANCE. 

i 

Nights and days — well, let them pass, | 

But not with a thought of hating; \ 

For the mountains contain no gold, my lass, \ 

That will pay for the pain of my waiting. ] 

! 

1 

What if the days be dark and drear, 1 

And what if the nights be long ? | 

I only know you'll come back, my dear, j 

On the wings of an old love song. ■ 

Then speed to me, dear, with the fleetness of winds, ; 

With never a thought of abating; 
You'll find that the angels have taken my sins j 

In the course of my terrible waiting. 



Forty- one 



THE VALLEY OF SEARCH. | 

j 

Come I at last to decision, j 

Now I am all alone ; j 

I test the hearts I have gathered, \ 

And, lo ! each gift is a stone. 
The heart that was soft in the seeming. 

Melting with mine at a touch, I 
Cold when the contact was broken — 

Ever has friendship been such. 

Now I am done with the trifles, j 

Now I am through with the false — | 

Mine shall be sacred or nothing, 1 

True as Divinity's vaults. ' 

I shall attain the Ka'aba, ■ 

I shall discover the One ; ' 
Or, if my searching be fruitless, 

There shall be nothing undone. i 

Learning my plan and my purpose, I 

Wisting my route in the past; j 

Laugh at the ways of my seeking, | 

But ponder the die I have cast. \ 

Up to the strike of the hour, i 

In common I've taken my dole, \ 

Handling the thoughts of the ages — j 

Searching in vain for a Soul. - 



Forty-two 



Searching and seemingly finding, 

Then would my wanderings end; 
Then would the God of my future 

Blend into one with my Friend. 
I would permit the abortion 

To suck at the cells of my soul; 
To feed on my famished affections, 

Charging usurious toll. 

Then, faint from the drain of the linking. 

Dry as a Death Valley bone, 
I watched, while he, winged with my lifeblood, 

Flying, would leave me alone. 
This, the beginning and ending — over and over 
again, 

Thus have I syphoned my being 
And measured the flow to my men. 

Wroth am I now with my hasting — 

Pain, this device is your perch. 
I leave it, and now with sweet Patience, 

I enter the Valley of Search. 
Here I shall love, and the loving 

Shall blossom and waft its perfume; 
And the nostrils of ages shall scent it 

Down to the sounding Doom. 



Forty-three 



Many shall know of its presence — 

One only shall know of its need ; 
Silence shall be my companion, 

Patience my slow moving steed. 
Onward, I'll ride through the Valley, 

Taking my hurts and my scars. 
Seeking the One of Desire, 

Searching the dust and the stars. 

Yea, I shall know when I find ; 

Unerringly then I shall see 
Etched on my soul his true likeness — 

On his, a portrait of me. 



Forty-four 



TO A. H. H. 

0, friend of mine ! Could I expect, 
When I to you my woe releas'd 

That you would help me stand erect 
By wisdom mother'd in the East? 

I knew your name — I knew your face; 

My plummet had not reach'd your heart ; 
I knew naught of your noble grace, 

Which forms, in you, the greater part. 

You saw me weak — you read my fear; 

Your radiant love flow'd out to me, 
When first you kindly drew me near 

And led me o'er a troubled sea. 

If such the promptings of your faith, 

I'll ask no more — of man at least ; 
All else to me is shadow'd wraith. 
And so / turn, and face the East. 



Forty-flve 



HOW THE WORLD'S RECORD WAS MADE. 
By the world's most famous horse, Dan Patch, 1 :55. 

A greeting arose from the throat of each man. 
As they caught the first glimpse of the proud head 

of Dan. 
Lightly he stepped and gallantly bow'd 
In response to the cheers of that great Hamline 

crowd. 
Each nod and each look of that marvelous horse 
Portended he'd beat his own time on that course. 
Victorious blood pulsated each vein. 
As Dan wheel'd around in response to the rein. 
His blood seem'd to tingle as Savage said, "Dan, 
Today you must beat your own time, if you can — 
A fraction will do it — the battle is on !" 
A shout from the crowd and the pacer was gone ! 
With nostrils distended, and head proudly high. 
Like a flash of lightning the quarter was by, 
"You're doing it, Dan — that quarter was good;" 
His driver knew well that Dan understood. 
His pace was increas'd, and a Jerk at the rein 
Made the unspoken answer both forceful 'nd plain. 
Cheer, 0, you watchers ! Their voices rang free, 
And the multitude surg'd like a turbulent sea. 

Forty-six 



Shout! Shout, till you're dizzy! 0, hammer 
those drums ! 

For truly the lather-robed conqueror comes ! 

No Eoman victorious ere passed 'neath an arch 

As proudly as Dan on that crown-winning march. 

He's coming! He's coming! Now straight for 
the wire ! 

His driver leans forward to speak and inspire. 

The crowd is now silent. Then f ann'd to a flame, 
Till ninety-three thousand are shouting his name. 
All four of his feet seem to fly through the air, 
As though the groom'd track had never been there. 
He's coming ! He's coming ! His pace is so fleet. 
That each flying second gains forty-nine feet. 
0, people ! Cheer louder and longer and more; 
This mile is one such as was ne'er seen before ! 
And the air was a billowy ocean of cheers. 
As Dan made a record to stand through the years. 
A mighty ovation ; the winners arrive— 
Dan Patch and his record of one-fifty-five. 



Forty-seven 



THANKSGIVING. 

Father, we thank Thee for this day of grace, 
Thank Thee that our flag is still unfurled; 

And we are thankful that we hold first place 
Among the mighty nations of the world. 

Not first in pond'rous battleships and arms, 
For there we wish our leadership to cease; 

But first in all that elevates and charms, 

First in all the Arts that make for peace. 

We thank Thee for the peace that now prevails 
Within our native land, nor gloat nor flout; 

We thank Thee for the Hand that never fails 

To lift the clouds of darkness and of doubt. 

We thank Thee for compassion seldom earn'd; 

We thank Thee for Thy holy love and light; 
We thank Thee that our President had learn'd 

To scale the heights of Justice and of Eight. 



Forty-eiffht 



A PRAYEE. 

0, God, I am Thy child ! And knowing this, 
I lift my voice to Thee with one request ; 

I have no fear, for hast Thy Son not said 

That they who come to Thee are heard and 
blest. 

My plea, 0, God, is not for Thee to ope 

The gilded doors of wealth and fame to me; 

Nor do I ask the fleeting things of earth, 
Eclat, false praise nor vain society. 

I only ask, 0, God, that Thou mayst guide 
My erring feet along the narrow way ; 

And give me strength, when Evil comes to tempt. 
To wave him back and answer him with 

"Nay." 



Forty-nine 



THE GLEANERS. 

Corded and twisted and knotted, 

Unshaped by the Octopi maw; 

The gleaners afield get naught of the yield 

Save only the broken straw. 

And they bend to their tasks 

While the Nazarene asks, 

"Where is my Mountain Law ?" 

And the nation sits in its churches, 

The plutocrat pays for his pew; 

But the answer, if any. 

Must come from the many. 

For silence was bought by the few. 

But the query of God 

Shall resound through the sod 

'Till each has answered anew. 

Tillers and sowers and reapers, 
Shockers and threshers are they ; 
But the work which they do 
Makes wealth for the few 
While gleanings are doled as the pay. 



Fifty 



And what shall we do with the system? 

And what is the cap of it all ? 

"The gleaners afield 

Shall share in the yield/' 

As written in blood on the wall. 

Powerful, patient and harnessed 
Eequited with shackles and feed, 
While the wealth which the soil 
Yields to their toil 
Is laid on the Altar of Greed. 



Fifty«one 



THAT SUIT OF BLUE. 

Harsh blows the wind^ 
The bended sky is thick o'ercast; 
The leaves are sere and thinned — 
The summer's past. 

Slow turns my thought 

To those brighter, happier days 

When joy was bought 

With kisses, soft as sunset rays. 

Let me dream on — 

'Tis budding, joyous April now; 

The snows are gone — 

We see what Heaven did endow. 

What do I hear? 

Ah, twice ! A firm and proud "I will ;" 

One from my Dear — 

And one from him whose will means "WILL." 

So let it be ! 

I can at least dream on of you 

And I can see 

(Forgive my tears) that suit of blue. 



Fifty-two 



That suit of blue ! 

Enfolding all I knew of love, 

And that was you ; 

Dear 'nd pure as all the stars above. 

That suit of blue 

I'll love 'till raven hair is gray; 

None can outdo 

My feelings now, nor Easter Day. 

Ah, Easter Day ! 

When first I saw that suit of blue 

And you did say, 

"You do love me — and I love you." 

My dream is broken; 

The clouds have moved — the sky is blue 

This is the token 

You still love me — I still love you. 



Fifty-three 



TO M. E. H. 

Good-bye — but just for now — 

Good-bye ! 
Whether the will of God or world — 

I know not how. 
I only know that thou wert here, 

And now art gone ; 
That thou didst look upon 
The various things of life, 

And then passed on; 
Passed beyond this sphere of strife. 
Passed to that Unknown Land 
Where all must meet 

Soon or late. 
And now, 0, early chum of mine, 
I fain would say 

That in a most completely happy day, 
You and I shall surely stand 
Side by side, within the Gate. 
Then you shall know, 

If not of late 
How much of love I did bestow 

To ope the Gate. 
So now, again, good-bye. 
Just sweetly wait 

Within the Gate. 



Fifty-four 



EDGAR ALLEX POE. 

Now is the Day of Justice, 

Though in labor a hundred years, 

The world gives birth 

To a love of worth 

That amends for the malice and jeers. 

Vultures pecked at thy weakness, 
Maligners made light of thy good; 
But such was the path of genius 
As long as the world has stood. 

Thy worth Has mounted the barrier 
Defamers who gloated are gone; 
And the soul which God poured 
In our sad lettered Lord, 
Immortallv marches on. 



Fifty-five 



S. 0. s. 

The greatest puzzle to man is man, 

Myself is a puzzle to me ; 
But I'll get this straight if a mortal can, 

And plain will the answer be. 

If I ask a man what he thinks of "Yes/' 

His answer will all depend 
On whether I heard his "S. 0. S." 

And paid at the other end. 

Select from the many men you know 
One of the staunchest and best; 

He'll tarnish a little and lose some glow 
When put to the acid test. 

And so, in the dense of the dark, last night 

I seared my soul with a cross; 
And feared that my judgment of self was right, 

The gold was tainted with dross. 



Fifty-six 



I seek and ask and you're dubbed a fool; 

I question again, and you're good; 
For it matters much where in Life's School 

The quizzed and the quizzer stood. 

A fool, a knave, a Prince and a Saint — 

These are the names we bear; 
But the judgment of man has a common taint 

This weakness is everywhere. 

So, I've resolved that whatever you seem. 

To give you a kindly name ; 
For I know it was part of the Great God's scheme 

To plan us and make us the same. 



Fifty-seven 



A CEEED. 

I believe in the religion of Love — ^love for 
everybody and everything — the rich and poor — 
the well and afflicted — the weak and strong — the 
old and the young — for man and for beast. I be- 
lieve it were better to praise the honest living than 
to eulogize the dishonest dead — better to pluck a 
blossom from the breast of Nature and pin it with 
affectionate touch to the tattered coat of some for- 
lorn unfortunate, than to lay a wealth of hot-house 
bloom upon some rogue's luxurious casket. I be- 
lieve it better to stoop in aid of a fallen daughter 
than to reach up and tickle the Sabbath side of 
some gilded hypocrite. I believe that God is Love 
— that He loves you — and me — and everybody — 
this is the Eeligion of Love — it satisfies my heart 
— it is deep enough for the Soul and high enough 
for Heaven — broad enough for the whole world 
and for everybody. 



Fifty-eight 



GOOD NIGHT. 



Darling, good night, good night ! 

And from my heart, God bless you; 
In darkest sleep may yon see light 

And angel hands caress you. 

Again, good night ! 

I fain would write 

Until the morning's dawn; 

With mustered might 

And shallow sight 

I still would then write on. 

The night grows deep 
And I must sleep ; 
My pen creeps on, but slow ; 
Oh, can't you hear ? 
I love you, Dear, 
Say "yes," for I must go- 
Good night. 



Fifty-nine 



L'ENVOI. 

When Time has taken his millions, 

And the graves that were numbered are lost; 
We shall measure the price of progress 

And leisurely count the cost. 

For this is the Age of Procession, 

And this is the Age of Now; 
The chiefest aim is progression — 

And the means — well, it's any how. 

We shall draw the things as we merit 

In the lottery of this age; 
Eegardless of what we inherit. 

And so we shall close Life's page. 



Sixty 



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